Have to Wonder
by Hannalore Dayne
Summary: *sequel to Lonely* (FINALLY, this is up) Monday morning - Lana and Whitney are no longer a couple, and everything has changed for Clark... including things he is completely unaware of.
1. Pop Tarts and Milk

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone, because seriously, if I could, I would SO own Tom Welling.

Note: For returning readers: IT'S BACK!!! YAY!!!! I have not posted in my Saga for a very long time. It's been about a year, actually. But here it is, a finished story, brand-new and shiny. I am SO sorry about the wait, various crazy excuses are involved – all true, have no doubt – and by way of apology I give you an open-ended ending. Wait. What? Anyway.

For first-time readers: You have just stumbled on a long, confusing series of Smallville stories. This is Part Six of something I like to call The Saga, my chain of stories that all serve one higher plot arc. All six of these stories take place in about a week of the lives of Clark et al. Now you're probably going: "Wait a minute. So you're saying, in order to understand this story, I have to read FIVE OTHER FREAKING STORIES?" Well… yeah, pretty much. You do. I mean, you COULD read this first, but that is not doctor-recommended. For those interested and/or with patience, this is the Saga in chronological order: Just Friends, As Close As You'll Ever Get, Too Close, Hypothetically, Lonely, and now Have to Wonder. If you DO end up reading all of them, you're in for a treat, 'cause they're kind of weird. Now you're thinking: "Why is that a treat again?" Well, it just is. Deal with life.

Clark awoke with the distinct, uneasy feeling that someone had been watching him sleep. Shivering, he concluded that it was the lingering effects of the dream he had been having. He couldn't quite remember what it had been about, but he shook off his creepy feeling and went downstairs after changing his clothes. It was early, earlier than he usually got up, but he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep even if he wanted to. There was nothing good in the fridge, so he opened a pop tart package and stuck one of the nasty biscuit-like slabs in the toaster. Maybe he would buy breakfast at school.

His mom came in the front door, already dressed for working in the field. "Clark," she said, smiling. "You're up early!"

He shrugged and smiled. "Just woke up early, I guess."

She gestured upstairs. "If only your father would follow that habit!"

He grinned and turned away as the toaster ejected his pop tart. Holding it in one hand, he used the other to open the fridge and scout for any edibles he may have missed. Broccoli and last night's chicken and potatoes graced the shelves. He made a little sound. "Mom, we need to go shopping," he said, raising his voice as he heard her walk into the living room.

"Okay!" she called from across the house. "Thanks for volunteering!" He shook his head with a little smile and grabbed the milk bottle. _No one will care if I finish it off,_ he lied to himself. He poured it into a glass since his mother was probably watching and threw the empty plastic jug away. "I'm going back out to work," Martha Kent told her son as she marched towards the door with several sharp farmer's tools. "When your father finally comes down, tell him there's cereal in the cupboard."

"There is?" Clark complained, but the door had already swung closed behind her. He shrugged and took a bite out of his pop tart. It definitely tasted better with milk, he decided after finishing off the glass. He devoured the rest of the pop tart almost absently as he watched his mother walk back and forth by the window, setting up the tractor to ground the second field. He turned on the radio on the counter. After a couple minutes of commercials, one of his favorite songs started playing. He whistled along as he packed up his backpack for school.

His dad came down the stairs and headed straight for the fridge. "Where's the rest of the milk?" he asked his son, who jumped slightly.

"Dunno," said Clark, and checked his watch. Twenty minutes until the bus came. The song stopped and commercials began again. Jonathon turned off the radio. "Hey, I was listening to that!" Clark protested lightly.

"Find me a commercial-free station and you can listen all day," his father told him as he closed the fridge door.

"Oh, there's cereal in the cupboard," Clark remembered.

"With no milk?" His father asked rhetorically. Clark looked outside guiltily. His mom had the tractor started up and was loading it. "Well, you better head for the bus, son," Jonathon said, resignation tinting his voice as he realized that he would have to eat a pop tart. "Martha!" he called outside. "We need to start shopping around here!"

"I know," came the semi-irritated call from the busy woman outside.

"She knows," Clark translated. His father gave him a look. "I better get going, so see you!" He sped outside as only he could, stopping only to say, "Bye, Mom!"

"Have a good day, honey!" The fond words floated after him as he jogged away. A new hobby of his was controlling his urges to run, to see how long he could walk like a normal person before going nuts and leaving dust trails through cornfields. He often found that rushing to the bus stop just gave him more time to stand there, alone, waiting for his friends who could only walk at less than half Clark's speed. It took him about ten minutes to get to the crossroads where Chloe and Pete stood, waiting.


	2. Vegas Junkies

"What took you so long?" asked Chloe as he came nearer.

"It's not like I have a car," Clark said, smiling to erase any sarcasm. He, unlike his intrepid investigator of a friend, was not a fan of sarcasm.

Chloe shrugged, flipped hair bouncing lightly. "Yeah, well." She handed Pete a dollar. "You win," she told him.

Clark could only stare. "You guys bet on how long it takes me to get here?"

"We bet on everything," Chloe told him.

"At least, everything involving you," Pete said frankly. Chloe hit him on the arm.

"We're real Vegas junkies," Chloe said. "It's an addiction."

Clark shook his head, bewildered. "I have the weirdest friends…"

"Oh, and you're Mr. Normal?" Chloe shot back. "Why do you think we bet on you?"

Just then the bus appeared on the horizon. "All right, everybody," Clark said. "Try not to bet on how long it takes me to get on the bus, now." This time it was his turn to receive a clout as Chloe frowned playfully and Pete laughed. The bus screeched to a halt and they quickly boarded to avoid the dust cloud.

"You win," Pete joked to Chloe, pretending to hand her a few bills.

Clark shook his head and sat down next to Chloe. "Weird…"

"Oh!" Chloe turned to him, suddenly alight with excitement. "That reminds me."

Pete swore. "Man, Clark, I was hoping she'd forgotten. Thanks a lot."

Chloe gave him a look. "Clark, guess what happened yesterday?"

He stared at her, totally clueless. "The world ended?"

"Close!" she chirped. "The Dream Team is kaput." At his uncomprehending look, she translated, "Lana broke up with Whitney."

Time froze. "What?" he asked dumbly.

Pete shook his head. "I told you not to tell him. Now he'll be hopeful all day. It's probably just a false alarm."

"No, it's not!" Chloe insisted. "I heard the news from Trevor. You know, my jock source?" She didn't receive a reaction, since Clark was currently frozen. "Well, apparently Whitney was totally depressed all last night because Lana broke up with him at like ten o' clock P.M. Trevor and the guys had to tie him the couch just to keep him from killing himself with his football helmet." Her sardonic tone awakened Clark. He began to pay attention, a sweet glimmer of hope bubbling up inside him. "Apparently Lana took Nell's car and drove away. That's all they know," she said. "Nobody's seen Lana since."

A smile was touching Clark's lips and it wouldn't go away. Chloe rolled her eyes.

"So I guess you'll be asking her out, then, huh?" 

Clark was shocked out of his grin. "What?"

"Well, I mean, you'll ask her out now, right? Now that the playing field's clear and all?" Chloe's shrug conveyed the word _Duh_ that she tactfully didn't voice.

"No," Clark said, confused. "I can't just-"

"Why not, man?" Even Pete was exasperated now. "Think about it. She's a cheerleader. If you don't ask her now, she'll have somebody in a matter of _days_!"

He shook his head. "Lana's not like that, Pete."

"Maybe not, but you still better step up to the plate!"

Clark mulled over his friends' words. "You really think I should-"

"_Yes!_" They both spoke in insistent unison, surprising Clark and solidifying his decision.

"Well, okay…"


	3. Good Reason

Clark didn't see Lana all the way up until lunch. It was like the hallway was bereft of cheerleaders.

"They must all be in a tissue session," Chloe remarked caustically.

"C'mon, Chloe, don't be so hard on Lana. They've been dating for a long time," he protested. He felt ironically justified in defending her relationship with Whitney now that it was over.

He did see the quarterback once, on his way to Science. He had looked pretty normal other than the fact that he had deep shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in two days.

"Poor guy," said Pete when Clark mentioned it in the lunchline. "Bet he's heartbroken."

"And?" Chloe said. "Why do I have to be the one defending the breakup? Didn't anyone else see it coming?"

"I did," said a soft voice behind them.

They all turned and saw Lana. Embarrassment and awkwardness were passed around until Chloe said, "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to come off harsh."

"You didn't," said the dark-haired girl. "You were being honest." She gave a small, sad smile. "I just wish everybody would stop staring at me like I've got two heads." She looked down. "Or one less than I should."

"Hey, don't be like that," Clark said gently. "It's totally your decision. Nobody has a right to force their opinions on you."

Rather than comfort, his words seemed to strike her strangely, or familiarly. "Yeah, maybe," she said, her voice quiet and small.

"Why don't you sit with us today?" He suggested. "You won't have to deal with the inquisitions."

He turned on a thought to Chloe, who held up her hands and said, "I won't say a word. Not one question."

Lana smiled, a healthier, sweeter smile. "Thanks. That would be really great."

The line ebbed past the food and out the kitchen doors, dispersing to various tables. After reluctantly receiving meatball surprise and a cup of broccoli, the four crossed the tiled floor and settled at a table near the wall. "Less staring eyes," Chloe explained with an empathetic smile. Lana smiled back, though her eyes were left out of the gesture. They all sat down. An awkward silence fell like a blanket as they half-heartedly picked at their food. With a sigh, Lana put down her plastic fork.

"This is silly," she said. "Please, don't feel uncomfortable on my behalf. I don't mind talking about it." At their hesitant looks, she insisted, "Really, I'm fine with it."

Chloe shrugged and dived right into reporter mode. "Why'd you do it?" She asked.

Clark glared at her from his place next to Lana, but she ignored him and watched the ex-cheerleader for her answer and reaction.

Lana, oddly enough, seemed more at ease with Chloe's blunt honesty than with the antsy tiptoeing that everyone else was doing around her. She tilted her head. Clark caught a whiff of her soft, light scent and struggled not to close his eyes in pleasure. "Well," she said. "Whitney and I sort of went stale. You know what I mean?" Chloe nodded quickly, and Lana continued. "It wasn't so much that one or the other stopped caring, I guess…" She searched for the words. "I wasn't sure how _I_ felt about him anymore, and he wasn't giving me space to figure it out. So I let him go. And now I'm sure," she said. "So I'm not sorry."

Chloe raised her eyebrows. "Good reason," she said.

Lana smiled. "I know, right?" She shook her head. "Everyone's acting like we had a fight. People I don't even know are looking at me like I'm a criminal or something…" She trailed off, realizing that it wasn't really funny. She looked down. 

Clark put his hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said. "We understand." Chloe and Pete nodded.

She smiled with a twist of bitterness. "I know you do," she said, and it seemed to Clark that she was talking just to him. Suddenly he realized that his hand was still on her shoulder and he quickly removed it. Pete and Chloe exchanged a knowing look. He gave them another of a completely different kind.

This little exchange took about a second and Lana didn't notice a thing. "I'm glad I decided to sit with you guys. I should do it more often." They all smiled, but Clark's grin couldn't have been more sincere. Lana glanced at him and quickly looked away when she saw his expression. He tried to tone down his joy after that.


	4. Mr Reporter

They continued to eat and talk and even laugh, and soon they had all forgotten the tangible awkwardness that had previously lain in the large hall. He didn't know why he didn't ask her out right then. Maybe it slipped his mind, or maybe it didn't seem an appropriate time to bring it up. People may have stared at them but they didn't notice, least of all Clark, who was intoxicated with Lana's laugh and the occasional, accidental touch of her leg against his. When lunch ended it was a shock, as if they had only been talking for a few minutes instead of the forty-five that had passed. Clark offered to walk Lana to class, but she was fine on her own and thanked him for his consideration. The lingering glances she gave him as she walked away were enough to keep him going through the snide glances, snickers and staring eyes that followed him once he had been seen walking through the hallways with the now-available Lana Lang.

"You can stop staring now, Clark," Chloe said dryly. "She's turned the corner."

Clark suddenly noticed his friend standing next to him. "I wasn't staring!" he protested weakly.

Chloe rolled her eyes. She didn't even have to say _Yeah, right_. "So you've got Math next?"

"No, it's cancelled today," he remembered.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, why don't you stop by the Torch? We're short hands and, who knows, maybe you can write."

"Hey, I can write," Clark said in a mock-defensive tone. "Just watch me."

"That's the spirit!" she said cheerily, and dragged him by the arm in the general direction of the Torch office.

When they got there, Pete was showing Anna, his latest "trophy," as he put it, how to use the computer.

"Hey," Chloe said, snapping into business mode, "date's over. Get to class, you two."

Anna smiled shyly at Clark as Pete led her out the door with one hand on her back. The short football player turned his head as they left and gave his friends an ecstatic grin, displaying his joy at his newest find. Clark gave him an encouraging smile.

Chloe had forgotten Pete existed as she started bringing up files, connecting to the internet, sorting through hard copies of new leads, and directing Clark to the second computer all at once. Clark felt slightly overwhelmed.

"How does all this work again?"

"Here," she said, thrusting out her hand. He took from her a piece of paper with some scribbling on it.

"What's this?" he asked, squinting as he tried to read the words.

"It's my latest idea. Picture this," she said, holding up her hands as screen frames. "In The Off-Season: What Jocks Do When They Actually Have to Work." She grinned at Clark. "What do you think?"

He hesitated. "A little harsh, wouldn't you say?"

She shook her head emphatically. "Nothing's harsh, Clark, you'll have to learn that. Whatever gets people buying the papers."

He looked at her skeptically. "Chloe, the paper is free." Her answering look could have frozen Satan. Quickly he changed the subject. "So what's the story?"

She beamed at him. "Well, I found out some stuff from Trevor, and I was going to interview Whitney, but let's just say now's not the best time! Anyway." Clark was amazed. Her brain was moving much faster than usual, which was really something for Chloe. He was reminded of a fly, buzzing hysterically to an object, bouncing off, and zooming to the next like some ridiculous imitation of a ping-pong ball. "It turns out that most of the football players who apply for jobs at the bookstores and convenience stores get turned down. They're only accepted as farmhands and at Pizza Hut or something. Get it?"

Clark took a wild stab. "Industrial bias based on education stereotypes?"

Chloe's smile was worth the guess. "Hey," she told him slyly. "You might turn out all right as a reporter after all." 

He faked seriousness. "Now, about my salary…"

Chloe giggled and thrust a few files at him. "Here're the commercial records of the past eighteen months. Summer's in a separate file in the back and this doesn't specifically track jocks, so you'll have to look them up." Still smiling, she started moving away. "You're on your own, Mr. Reporter! I've got work to do!"

He gave her a winning grin and looked down at the manila folders in his hands. _Well,_ he told himself seriously. _Here begins my career as a reporter._ The hilarity of that statement kept him smiling through the rest of the period as he sat at the second computer, looking up the work permits of the tenth grade football players.


	5. Celebrity Amidst a Divorce

Clark ran home instead of taking the bus. Chloe had basically filled the rest of his day with reporting homework, and he wanted to talk to Lana. He'd thought about calling first, but he knew what the answer would be – "Oh, that's okay, Clark, really… I'm fine" – so he was just going to walk there instead. He didn't know what he was going to say when he got there, but he wanted to comfort her and he wanted to make himself feel better about everything that had happened on Friday.

"Lana," he tried as he struck off for her house, "I want you to know I'll always be there, if you want to talk… Listen, Lana, if you need a friend… Lana, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable on Friday-" He stopped talking for a moment. _And I'm sorry you made _me_ uncomfortable._ He cleared his throat and eyed her house, looming against the sky. "Lana, I just wanted to make sure that you're comfortable talking to me, because I know you're going through something rough right now. I want to know you've got someone to talk to." That sounded pretty good. "I want you to know… I mean I want to know you can talk to me, because _I_ would feel awful if something like that happened and I couldn't talk-" He stopped again, this time because his throat had closed up. For a moment the only sound was that of his feet on the road. He _couldn't_ talk to anyone. No one that would understand, anyway. Well, Lex. He could talk to Lex. But not about everything. "I can't talk to anyone about everything," he whispered. It took him a second to realize he had said it out loud. He tried very hard not to feel lonely. "Lana," he started again, but by this time he had reached her house and it was too late to practice.

When she opened the door, her expression was enough to make him turn around and run back home right then and there, but she invited him before he could excuse himself clumsily and flee from her gaze of mixed feelings.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, and he couldn't tell if she meant it or not. "Everything's been crazy here. The phone's ringing off the hook. I might as well be a celebrity in the midst of a divorce," she laughed, but her laugh sounded sour and Clark felt infinitely sorry for her.

"Well, listen, Lana, I just wanted to come and say that-"

There was a knock on the door. They both stood staring at the door for a split second, and then Lana said, "Coming," and went to open it, with an apologetic glance at Clark.

She opened the door to reveal the last person in the world Clark had expected to see. 

Lex Luthor's mouth was open as if to speak, but upon seeing Clark behind Lana, his words stopped instantly. He only looked a little puzzled, but Clark saw a vein in his temple throb and knew that he was either very surprised or upset about something. Clark felt a stab of confusion and wished he could see Lana's expression.

Since Lex seemed at a loss and Lana wasn't saying anything, Clark ventured, "Hi, Lex." Then they both started moving again, like wind-up toys.

"Yeah, hi," Lana said, and she sounded like Clark felt. "What are you doing here, Lex?"

The vein in Lex's temple kept throbbing. He glanced at Clark, then back at Lana. "Can I talk to you?" he said, and his voice was rather low. Lana didn't say anything for a second, and then she took hold of the doorknob.

"Yeah, no problem," she said, and put up one finger in Clark's direction, telling him to wait, as she closed the door behind them. Clark was left alone in Lana's living room.

His first thought was, _What the hell?_ His second was that he could see through walls. He squinted slightly and watched Lana follow Lex a little ways away from the house, towards his car, which was pulled up on the road. He turned to face her and Clark, and started talking. His face looked unhappy, and Clark could see that vein going faster than ever. He wondered with some concern what was the matter. Lana crossed her arms, and she tilted her head slightly as she listened. Clark _really_ wished he could see her face.

Lex glanced up towards the house, and for a sickening moment Clark thought he could see him. Then he came to his senses as Lex looked back at Lana, who was now talking. Lex interrupted her and said something with curt, tense hand gestures, and his face was as upset as Clark thought Lex would ever allow his face to be. Which was to say, he looked mildly disturbed. Clark got the feeling he was asking a question.

"Clark?"

He jumped and turned around. Nell was standing at the foot of the staircase with a vague smile on her face.

"Honey, where's Lana?"


	6. Infinitely Weird

Clark rapidly tried to determine if a) Nell knew that Lana knew Lex or b) if she wanted her talking to Lex. "She's outside," he said finally. "I'm just waiting."

"Lost in thought, it seems from the way you were burning a hole through that door," she said jokingly. Clark tried to laugh, but it came out as a kind of cough. "Wonder what she's doing out there." Nell had her arms folded and looked every part the mother: concerned and out of place in her child's life.

"Oh, something important, I guess," Clark said dismissively. "I just came to talk to her about, you know, Whitney."

"What about Whitney?" Nell asked innocently. Clark felt a knot form in his stomach.

"Um-"

The door opened and Clark turned to see Lana looking harried and disturbed.

"Clark, you need to go," she said shortly, hand automatically brushing her hair back as she closed the door. Before she did Clark could just see Lex getting into his car.

"Lana," Nell protested. "That's no way to talk to a guest."

"No, it's all right, I'll go," he said quickly, though he was anxious to know what Lex had said to her. He got the feeling she wasn't going to tell him.

At her words Lana noticed Nell for the first time and just as her mouth opened to give an explanation, Clark said without stopping to think, "Silly of you to leave that hose running, Lana."

She looked at him, and was minutely relieved. "Oh, I know." She smiled sheepishly at Nell. "I never do that."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Nell said crisply, knowing full well there was a secret being passed around that a parent was not supposed to be a part of. "Say hi to your parents for me, Clark."

"I will," he said, and headed out the door.

He'd only been to Lana's house twice, he mused as he walked home, and each time something infinitely weird had happened. His thoughts turned to Lex, wondering if he would tell Clark what he and Lana had talked about. His common sense told him probably not, but knowing Lex, he was probably expecting Clark to ask.

Lana had looked pretty upset. So had Lex. Clark wondered what could possibly upset both of them so much. Did somebody die? Wait, did Lex and Lana even know each other well enough to talk about _anything_? Clark chewed on his lips, thoroughly befuddled, until he thought of a horrible idea that he immediately spit out like a bad taste in his mouth. The idea was that something had… _happened _between them. But of course that was crazy, and Clark felt ashamed for even thinking it. It was just ridiculous on so many levels. Lex wasn't stupid, he knew about the age of consent and all that. Plus he would never do that to Clark. And besides, Lana had just broken up with Whitney, less than twenty-four hours ago. Even if she was the kind of person to do something like that, they hardly would have had enough time to do anything.

Satisfied that he had argued the point out of his mind, he concentrated on taking long strides towards his house, practicing walking like a normal person, so that he wouldn't have so much time to kill when he ran to the bus stop in the mornings.


	7. No Mistake

Lex celebrated his happiness by running on the treadmill for about an hour and a half. That sufficiently wore down his urge to jump around and shout with joy. He hadn't slept with Lana. That simple fact just made him feel so good about life that he wanted to run on the treadmill some more. Instead he took a shower and went to his office to play pool against no one.

It was only then that he realized what a close call it had really been. Quietly he lay down the pool cue, considering that fact, and understood then that there was nothing to celebrate about. He had made the monumentally stupid mistake of letting himself get close enough to worry. He'd lost control, and that was unacceptable. The fact that he had actually had to wonder whether or not he slept with her told him that his level of self-control was becoming dangerously low. There should have been no mistake. He shouldn't have been drinking, he shouldn't have let her in the house, he shouldn't have kissed her, and after all that, he shouldn't have been thinking about her in the first place. She was fifteen, for Christ's sake. He could have any woman he wanted. "Don't choose one that's going to get you into trouble," he murmured. 

He worked his jaw pensively, and silently agreed to keep himself in line. He had been getting lax in this soft, corn-sodden Everytown. Things had to change, or he was going to hurt his business here. _Or Clark_, his brain told him, but he made a conscious decision not to think about that. That would put him on a whole new train of thought, one that was harder to control than business, one that hurt. It wasn't like he had a lot of experience in having friends to hurt. There were some new things he didn't have to try. He picked up the pool cue again, a harder Lex Luthor, or at least a Lex Luthor trying to be harder. He dismissed his lingering thoughts of Lana as juvenile and borne out of unhealthy boredom, as he dismissed most of his thoughts and feelings.


	8. And Yet

Lana lay in her fluffy cheerleader's bed, in her fluffy cheerleader's pajamas, and desperately, desperately wanted new décor. She hadn't been a cheerleader for some time now, and it was driving her crazy to be smacked in the face with CheerleaderWorld every time she walked into her room. Even so, she snuggled deeper into her covers, needing the comfort. Today had been an awful day. She had never wanted to be famous, but now she knew exactly why. The public scrutiny, the giant magnifying glass on every step you take – every boy you date. It was bad enough going to school with Whitney, having to see his hurt puppy-dog eyes reaching out from the brave face he put on. But going to Smallville High with Whitney, well… that was just unbearable. Everyone pointed as if she were the Bearded Lady at the circus, whispered as if she owed them something, had broken some silent promise she'd somehow made to be perfect or else.

But she wasn't perfect. God, they would never understand that, even though it was the simplest thing. People weren't perfect, they just weren't. And everyone just _expected _her to be. The only ones who had treated her like a normal human being today were Chloe, Pete and Clark.

Clark.

Oh, God, Lex.

Lana squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her pillow. She didn't know what to think about Lex. She didn't know what to think about _herself_, kissing Clark and then – then Lex, and trying to put it all down to unhappiness – God. What was going to happen if she ever got divorced? Would she sleep with her lawyer? The mailman?

At least he didn't remember anything. That was good. She would never, ever be able to look at him again if he'd remembered her kissing him, telling him – God – that she would kiss him if she wanted to, taking off his shirt-

She couldn't think about this any more. It tightened her stomach with embarrassment in such a way that breathing was hard. It was just so humiliating to think that she could lose control like that. And he was a _grown man_. A legal adult.

"So stupid," she whispered painfully. "So, so stupid."

And yet.

He did kiss her back. He was drunk, true, she could taste the bourbon well enough on his tongue – God – but somehow it made her feel good, in a way she couldn't really describe. Whitney's kisses had never made her feel like that. Whitney's kisses felt dutiful and shallow, good in the way a dandelion is until all the seeds are gone.

And somehow, the fact that he had sought her out the next day, upset, helpless – that, too, made her feel good. And she felt so strange realizing that. It had given her no pleasure to tell him what he needed to hear, to let him going away breathing a sigh of relief. Lana opened her eyes when she realized that what she had really wanted was for him to kiss her again. And know what he was doing. Know full well that he was kissing a fifteen-year old girl, and still want to.

Then she wouldn't have to wonder what to tell him the next time he asked her whether or not they slept together.


End file.
